


The Art of..

by Tuesdayschildd



Series: The Dom!Varchie Chronicles [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: BDSM, Day 4, F/M, PWP without Porn, Riverdale Kink Week, Smut, Spanking, i couldn't leave day 3 there, i mean there is a tiny bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-17 05:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuesdayschildd/pseuds/Tuesdayschildd
Summary: “Are you going to be a good girl now?” He’s breathing into her ear, more growl than words.“Yes,” she moans back, but the hand on her hair tightens with her response.“Yes, what?” He’s asking as he starts to mouth across the exposed skin of her neck, teeth grazing.“Yes, sir.”





	The Art of..

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Kink Week Readers! This Day 4 fic is a continuation of Day 3, but it's not required reading prior to this.  
> Warnings for sadism/masochism, (consensual) spanking. These two lovebirds have safe words and would use them ;)
> 
> Shout out to my beta Addison on Tumblr @camilascheryl

 

 

 

 

She’s loading the dishwasher, mostly Archie’s used dishes that he has a habit of letting pile up in the sink - “What difference does it make _when_ I get them in the dishwasher? Shouldn’t it just matter that I do eventually?” - she’s still dressed from work, black pencil skirt, white billowy blouse, and nude stockings, but she abandoned her heels near the front door when she arrived home five minutes ago, exhausted from all-day depositions and annoying clients. She’s humming a song, a habit she’s picked up when she’s trying to decompress, dishes clanking as she sorts them, so she doesn’t hear him come up behind her, startling her as his arms come around her waist.

 

“I thought I heard you banging around in here,” he mutters into her ear as the front of him pushes into her back, nuzzling his face into her neck.  
  
“I wouldn’t be if you’d just put these directly into the dishwasher.” She responds curtly. “I can’t fathom why you need an extra step of putting them in the sink first.” She’s sighing, repeating the same old argument that’s gotten her nowhere for months. She’s bending down to place the last plate in and as she comes back up he’s flipping her around suddenly, the edge of the counter at her back now, and he’s got a look in his eyes like he wants to play as she shakes the rest of the water from her hands before bracing them on his chest, trying to keep some air between them.

  
“But then what would we argue about if we didn’t have this? I’m providing an easy outlet for any spousal conflict we may develop,” he says with a cocky grin on his face that half annoys her, but she knows he saves it just for her and so she can forgive it and him, most of the time.

  
“You’re looking exceptionally nice today,” he adds, looking down at her work clothes. She takes the moment to inspect his sweatpants and t-shirt, his outfit of choice on the days he works from home.  
  
“Thank you. Can’t say the same for you,” she bites back, feeling a bit prickly, knowing he was lounging around in comfortable clothes while she spent nine hours in three inch heels. And as if he was waiting for the perfect segue, he’s suddenly leaning down to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder as she stutters and gasps. “What are you doing, Archibald!?! Put me down!”  
  
“Well now that’s just mean. You’re going to have to be punished,” he replies nonchalantly as he carries her down the hall. She’s got the perfect view and reach of his backside, which she pinches repeatedly in protest as she continues to verbally protest. “Archie, I have a dozen emails and phone calls to return, I don’t have time for your shenanigans.”  
  
“Maybe you should have thought of that before,” he scolds, ignoring her fingers digging into his ass, and crossing the threshold into their bedroom. She expects him to drop her onto the bed, but instead he’s sitting and flipping her back forward in front of him, only to turn her prone again, her torso in his lap. As she attempts to squirm out of the situation, he’s got a strong arm against her lower back keeping her down, and another hand on her ass.  
  
“If you’re about to do what I think you’re about to, you better think again, mister.”  
  
She can hear his smirk in his reply. “Oh, I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about it every damn day this week since you handcuffed me to the headboard last weekend.”  
  
She’s growling into the covers as he pulls her skirt up over her hips, exposing her black lace panties and garter, one strap of which he snaps against the back of her thigh. “Ow!” she protests.  
  
“Oh, don’t whine, that was nothing.”  
  
Despite her anger, there’s something oddly arousing about her position, and when he’s lowering her panties down her thighs as far as the garter clips allow and the cool air of the room meets her backside, she knows she’s actually in trouble trying to attempt to hide any sort of enjoyment she’s going to get out of this.  
  
She doesn’t anticipate the first slap of his hand, the lingering burn worse than the initial sting of the impact. She’s clenching her cheeks together involuntarily as she holds her tongue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a groan. But in clenching her cheeks, she’s clenching her core, and the next slap rattles straight through her pelvis to her clit and she can’t help the breathy moan that escapes her lips.  
  
“I’m sorry, what was that? Was that a sound of enjoyment?” He asks, following his words up with a harder swat on the other cheek, the sting of which is rattling to her, a red hand print appearing almost immediately where he struck.  
  
He massages his hand over the redness as his own arousal grows, occasionally tracing his fingers lower on her upper thighs while he gives her a slight break.  
  
“I don’t hear you protesting anymore, pretty girl. I must not be doing it hard enough.” His third hit is by far the strongest, and she does cry out, her face buried into the comforter. He pauses, waiting to see if she’ll say anything, but when she’s silent, lands another equally hard slap against the first cheek. He can hear her breathing hard into the mattress, and he wants her reassurance before he continues.  
  
“You’ve got your safe word, Veronica. You’re allowed to use it.”  
  
She’s still face down on the covers so he pinches her inner thigh to make sure he’s got her attention. A short burst of protest at that and her heads turning outward. “I’m fine,” she lets out haughtily, mad at herself that she’s enjoying this so much, mad at him that he too is enjoying this, evident by his erection pushing into her pubic bone twitching every time he spanks her.  
  
He strikes her again, this time on her upper thigh, causing her to squeak, and he catches a bit of her wetness, a tiny bit of moisture on his fingers when his hand retreats, that he stares at for a second before leaning over to inspect her closer.  
  
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re drenched,” he says somewhat incredulously, but suddenly overjoyed that they’ve found another sexual activity to partake in, not that they’ve found many they don’t both enjoy, but 99% of all previous bedroom experiments come from Veronica and he’s so damn pleased with himself in the moment.  
  
“Keep up the comments, Andrews. I dare you,” she replies, wiggling in his lap. His arm adds more pressure on her lower back to halt her movements, not wanting her squirms on his own arousal distracting him from his task.  
  
“You’re not in the position to be making any sort of demands there, babe,” he counters as his hand comes down on her backside in three quick successive hits, finally getting her to moan out loud. Her ass is a beautiful shade of red now, the color creeping down onto her upper thighs and he unclips her garter straps to expose more skin.

  
She feels his digits probing at the entrance to her core, walls clenching in response and she wants them to fill her, but he just swipes up the moisture there and spreads it around, the warmth deep in her buttocks distracting until he’s brushing her clit and then her back orifice, getting lost in the slipperiness.  
  
For the second time in a week, he feels like his cock has never been so hard in his life and the tiniest squirm of her hips against him has him reeling. She’s tense again under his still hand across her ass, anticipating that he’s not yet finished, but the quick successive slaps he lands are still jarring and tears are slipping out of her eyes as she groans deeply into the mattress. She feels her walls clenching together and the next few blows grind straight through to her clit, her empty core clenching around nothing.  
  
His hands are soothing over her raw skin as he gives her a minute. “Safe word?” He’s asking again, knowing she truly wouldn’t have let him take it so far if she didn’t want him to, but her cries leave him with enough of a lingering doubt that he has to ask.  
  
“I said I’m fine,”  she replies, her arrogant tone a contradiction to her sniffles and red face, almost as red as her bottom. She’s trying to wiggle her skirt back down over her hips when he gets it.  
  
“Are you embarrassed? Is that it? Because you like it so much?” He’s a bit too excited with his questions, not helping matters. She’s squirming fiercely now, trying to hide her face from him and he can’t keep her down with his arms, so instead he’s pushing her off his lap and rolling on top of her to keep her from moving, his erection pressing into her backside.  
  
He catches her hands in one of his and holds them above her head, his chest and pelvis lined up with hers, and his face naturally finds it way to the crook of her neck. He can’t let it go quite yet, this power kick he’s getting, and he’s feeling an overwhelming desire to keep it burning despite any consequences.  
  
Her anger and arousal are probably at a similar level at the moment with her face mashed flat down on the mattress and her hands now locked in one of his. His freed hand starts to drag down her arm to her side and she knows where he’s going, straight to her skirt she managed to pull down a bit before, hiking it up again.  
  
He’s grinding his pants covered erection against her naked backside for a moment before he pulls his pants down just enough and then he’s slipping directly into her, the spread fluids from his actions earlier aiding in the process.  
  
She’s moaning into the comforter as he begins to thrust roughly, his hand hard on her wrists above her head. His other hand finds a fistful of her hair and pulls her head back as he changes the angle of his hips and his tip starts dragging on the sensitive front wall of her core.  
  
“Mmmm, Archie,” she’s moaning as she forgets what she was mad about or what she was embarrassed about, as the angle builds her up and up, and the hand in her hair is grounding, the pull just enough to stretch her back deliciously, and she’d be content to die just like this with him pounding into her.  
  
“Are you going to be a good girl now?” He’s breathing into her ear, more growl than words, as his hips pick up the pace. He’s trying to drive her straight through the mattress, the thrill of the control taking over his body, and he hasn’t felt this kind of power before, watching her underneath him at his mercy.  
  
“Yes,” she moans back, but the hand on her hair tightens with her response.  
  
“Yes, what?” he’s asking as he starts to mouth across the exposed skin of her neck, teeth grazing.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Do you want to come for me?” His lips are bruising and she’s going to have to wear her hair down tomorrow.  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Then come,” he demands, the slap of his skin on her backside loud as the mattress springs start to squeal and she’s clenching him like a vice as her walls start to quiver, the sensation spreading everywhere, intensified in her redden ass cheeks as she goes.  
  
He’s following right behind her, loosening his grip on her hair and wrists, his full weight leaning down now across her back as he gasps into her neck, spilling into her, a few more thrusts to empty himself.  
  
As the sensations fade from her body, she feels her residual anger leaving with it, cathartic in its escape, completely relaxed now as her body sinks down into the mattress.  
  
He’s rolling off her, pants still around his knees, feeling like he’s run a marathon, as she rolls to her side, finally slipping her skirt down to the appropriate level as she eyes him up, perching her chin on her hand.  
  
“Don’t get any bright ideas about associating dirty dishes with spanking, Archiekins. Or you’ll be out on the couch.”  
  
He turns then to look at her, mascara smudged from her tears, hair a mess, and cheeks pink, and he can’t help the stupid grin that adorns his face.  
  
“You’d never let me sleep on the couch,” he replies pompously, watching as her eyes go a little wider and a thin smile materializes on her face.  
  
She’s up off of the bed then, pulling her panties up as she crosses the room, shouting back to him, “Try me!”  
  
He’s tripping over his pants getting up as he chases her across the carpet, watching the flash of her raven hair out the bedroom door. “Oh no you don’t, you don’t get the last word here. You need to give me this!”  
  
He catches her around the middle in the hall, spinning around as she squeals and laughs, “I really do have phone calls to make!”


End file.
